A Chaste Bride
by codegal
Summary: GrimmNel AU -- The Earl of Northbury is no stranger to the murky world of espionage as his never ending hunt to bring down the traitor known as 'The Mantearia' continues, a search that leaves no time for any frivolity in his life... \full summary inside\
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** A Chaste Bride.

**Author:** codegal

**Rating:** T (for now)

**Disclaimer: **Don't own, don't sue.

**Summary:** [GrimmNel] The Earl of Northbury is no stranger to the murky world of espionage as his never ending hunt to bring down the traitor known as 'The Mantearia' continues, a search that leaves no time for any frivolity in his life. Yet, when his grandmother marries him by proxy to a dowdy bookkeeper, he comes to realise that marriage may be more than it seems.

**Author's Notes:** OK, the title is thanks to Eloni's awesome depiction of this fic (which can be found here: .com/art/You-can-forget-about-chaste-147736143). And unlike the usual meaning for the word "chaste", we're gonna go with the definition of: "without unnecessary ornamentation; simple or restrained", which of course is in reference to Nel. This is going to be the first time I try for a multi-chaptered fic outside of Stranger's in the Dark, so forgive me if this doesn't come out too well. It's been awhile since I've written something outside of smutty one-shots.

Special thanks to my dear e-sisters: Eloni and Masq for their help and input. *3*

…

_**In the beginning…**_

The carriage made its way slowly up the long drive.

The Countess of Northbury stood on the steps leading into the family mansion, watching somberly as the carriage brought her ten-year-old grandson ever so closer to her. The wind picked up, causing the countess to cast a wary look overhead at the gray clouds. It would seem that the journey had been made just before the storm hit.

How fitting, she thought melancholically, the coming storm indeed symbolic of the tragedy that had bestruck the Jeaggerjaques family. First, with the loss of her only daughter, who'd tried to protect an elderly woman from a cutthroat on the streets, killed with a knife slit across her throat. The countess Gisella had fallen to the ground in her despair, but had bore under the despair and carried on, holding up a strong face for the benefit of the family. The second blow left the family in ruins. Micheal Jaeggerjaques, obsessed with finding his wife's killer, had finally caught up with him, dealing justice swiftly with a knife to the throat, before taking his own life, leaving a note detailing that he simply couldn't bear life without his Emma.

Shocked at the news, Gisella had moved mountains setting up the funerals, dealing with the scandal and hushing up any unpleasant gossip from the unruly ton and taking legal guardianship of the only heir to the earldom, Grimmjow Jeaggerjaqques. She thought now of the silent, somber, light haired boy who was currently in the carriage, thinking of the horrors he must be faced with. Functioning through sheer will and determination, Gisella could only imagine what her grandson must be going through.

The carriage made a wide arc before coming to a stop before the steps of the mansion. Gisella waited patiently as the footman alighted from the carriage, opening the door for the master. She cocked her head to the side, trying to peer into the gloomy interior of the carriage. Slowly, the small figure of her grandson emerged from within, stepping onto the step platforms and down, before slowly moving to stand before his grandmother. He paused, looking up at her, his eyes dulled with loss, with the pain of it all. "Hello, grandmother," he greeted somberly. "I have finally made it."

Aching for the once cheerful little boy, she hugged the boy to herself before leading him up the stairs into the manor. "You're home, now, Grimmjow, you're home."

_**November, 1796.**_

The Panther stalked his prey.

All intelligence gathered from the war ministry had led the Panther to an abandoned outpost, where the notorious Mantearia was to pass by on his way to the outskirts of France, having been ousted as a spy for Napoleon's army. The Panther, having a long history of chasing after the Mantearia, had been the first to intercept the note, decoding its simple message to discern a meeting spot in which the Mantearia would meet up with an accomplice, a spy known simply as "Scrofa".

And now, well hidden behind some shrubbery, laying flat on his front as he aimed his gun and lay patiently in wait for either to show up, the Panther's eyes constantly roved the landscape for any sign of movement, for any of the two to show.

It had been close to an hour now, and although the need to get up and stretch his sore limbs was extremely tempting, the Panther knew that such a move could cost him his life. And he, out of all people, knew the importance of revenge, no matter how long it took one to realise it. It was a lesson his father had taught him very well.

A few moments later, the sound of thunder echoed from the distance, and the Panther cautiously looked above for any signs of it, but the sky remained calm, suggesting that the heavy pounding on the earth could be attributed to the hooves of a horse. The Panther frowned, his gut giving a twinge of unease.

Something was not right. The Mantearia and his friend would move with utmost stealth and haste as they moved to France, not wanting to be discovered by the English forces lest they be met with the firing squad. Yet, here someone was rushing towards the outpost, making no attempt to quiet its movements.

The Panther shifted slightly, letting his fingers relax and his mind go numb as he sighted down the barrel of his shotgun. There was something completely wrong here, but he wasn't going to lie around until he got found out and shot. He very much wanted to make it home.

He waited until the rider came into view, a black cloak covering its body, a cloak pulled low over its face. No doubt about it, the message that had been intercepted wasn't anything but a hoax.

The Panther waited until the rider reached the outpost. He didn't want to shoot at the rider just yet, as it would give away his position and he would lose his element of surprise. He watched as the rider slowed his mount before alighting, leaving the horse to the side of the dusty road, while he walked up closer to the outpost.

The rider paused in front of it, looking to either side. "I know you're out there, Panther."

He remained quiet, not moving a muscle. Now was not the time to make a move.

The rider turned, a smirk evident on what little was showing on his face. "The Mantearia sends a message."

Adrenaline pumped through him, and the urge to act was overwhelming, but the Panther tamped down on it. He needed to find out what the message was first.

"Enemies of the Crown are making a move on the eve of the 26th in four months time. The Mantearia bids you to come and stop him."

The Panther frowned. Why was the rider giving his this kind of information? Seeing that the rider wasn't going to give him any more information, he barked out a terse, "where?"

The rider smirked, "now, now, if I told you everything, that wouldn't be fun." Readjusting his gloves, he turned away from the outpost, moving towards his waiting horse. "Four months. I will tell Mantearia to expect you."

The Panther cocked his gun, the sound loud enough to register in the ears of the rider. The smirk that had been on his face slowly disappeared as he realises the Panther's intentions. He lifted his hands in a defensive gesture. "Y-you can't kill me. I've just served you a favour! Not to mention, I need to pass on your message to Mantearia."

The Panther sighted down his shotgun, the barrel aiming at the rider's head. "Your death will be adequate enough."

...

Grimmjow alighted from the phaeton, tiredly making his way up the steps to his town house. The warm beacon of light from his home was like a much-needed balm to his soul, and he wanted nothing more than to just get into his bed and sleep for the next sixteen hours straight.

His ever-watchful butler, Burgess, opened the door as he reached the front porch. "I trust everything is in good order?" Grimmjow spoke by way of greeting.

Burgess sniffed. "Of course. Though, the dowager countess would very much like to see you at this present time."

Grimmjow groaned, shrugging out of his great coat, handing it to Burgess. "Inform her that I will speak to her later."

"As you wish."

He headed towards the stairs, passing by the open door to the parlour.

"Grimmjow."

He quickened his steps, hoping to avoid his grandmother. The sounds of her swishing skirts told him that she was indeed following him.

"Grimm, I would like to speak to you, if you will."

Grimmjow paused in his tracks, casting a bleary eye at his grandmother before continuing on his way through the foyer to the stairs. "Can it not wait until later? I've just gotten home from the office, I'm not in the mood to attend to you right now."

The dowager countess shook her head. "I'm afraid I must insist. There's something that I have to tell you that is of the utmost importance."

"I seriously doubt that."

He continued up the stairs to his bedchamber, pausing at the threshold as he opened the door wide. Something was not right, Grimmjow thought to himself. For one thing, Quinlan his valet was not in his room, waiting to help him out of his clothes. Not to mention, there was a single candle glowing from his bedside, something he knew he didn't put there.

Frowning, Grimmjow stalked over to his bed, noticing a lump beneath his duvet. Someone was in his bed. Moving to the side where the candlelight shone from, he lifted the brass candleholder, pulling back the covers, and bringing the flame close to the intruder's face. Grimmjow noticed the delicate features; the dark lashes that lay like half-moons above her cheekbones, the full lips that parted slightly in sleep. He stared in shock. Who the hell was this woman?

As if on cue, the woman in question began to stir, her eyelids fluttering before opening, gold eyes squinting against the flame of the candle. She shrank back in the covers, moving away from the light. "W-who's there?"

Grimmjow pulled the flame back, snarling, "who the devil are you? And what are you doing in my bed?"

She blinked several times, her face flushing with colour as realization flooded through her. "Oh, my lord, you gave me a fright. I didn't know it was you."

He stared down at her, dumbfounded at the lack of comprehension she showed to the situation at hand. He felt like shaking the damn chit. "Who are you?" he repeated, gritting his teeth in irritation.

She cocked her head to the side. "Why, I'm Lady Neliel. I am your new wife."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** see previous chapter

**Author's Notes:** When I read over the first chapter, I couldn't help facepalming at how I sprang Nel's character. /facepalm (Didn't I warn you guys that multi-chaptered fics are not my forte?) So I'm going a lot slower with my story development this time around, though I guess this chapter is still pretty fast paced. Darn it, fail twice in a row? XD

And thanks heaps for the reviews guys. You guys rock. /hugs

…

"What do you mean, married to me by proxy?"

Gisella calmly sipped her tea, not looking a bit concerned in the face of Grimmjow's anger. "I did try to tell you earlier, but you insisted on ignoring me. You can only blame yourself for this surprise."

"Madam, you have five seconds to explain yourself before I have you shipped back to Northbury manor tonight."

"Really, no need to be rude, Grimm. If you would recall the bargain that we struck a few months back concerning the future Countess of Northbury?"

Grimmjow's eye twitched as he thought back through the conversations, a sinking feeling making his stomach churn. "I don't recall."

"Hmph, just as I thought," Gisella sniffed, pausing a moment to take a sip from her tea before continuing. "We drew papers so you cannot claim ignorance on this. You agreed that if you could not procure a suitable bride by the end of October, then you would be forced to agree to my choice of a bride. And if my memory serves me correct, it is now November." A smug expression covered the dowager's face before she moved to cover it with another delicate sip from her teacup.

"Bloody hell."

"Really, Grimmjow. Such language."

"You married me to some damned chit by proxy! My language is the least of your concern!"

Gisella lifted a brow. "Could it be that the Earl of Northbury isn't going to uphold his word? Need I remind you of the penalty of not upholding the contract, Grimm?"

"And what of her background? Is she at least suitable for the position of countess?"

Gisella took another sip of her tea, looking calmly at Grimmjow. "She is the daughter of a merchant. Hardworking, able to run a household, polite, well-mannered and of good breeding."

Grimmjow snorted. "Good breeding? I would hardly think so with a merchant for a father."

Gisella smiled, "Details, my dear boy. Her mother was Lady Alessandra, the daughter of the Duke of Charlton. The Duke wrote Alessandra out of his will when she ran away with Neliel's father, but have since made amends with their daughter at the birth of their granddaughter, Nel. It also seems that the Duke and Duchess are without an heir, and therefore, the next in line for the title is dear Neliel. You see, my boy? Your bride actually outranks you. How do you feel about that?"

Grimmjow scowled. He didn't even want to think about the woman upstairs. He was bone tired, and all he really wanted at this moment was to sleep. He drew to his feet slowly, sparing a glance at his grandmother. "This isn't over," he muttered before exiting the room, dragging up the stairs for the second time that night. He opened the door to his bedchamber, pausing but for a moment when he noticed that Neliel was still in his room.

"What the hell are you still doing here?"

Neliel turned a perplexed look at him. "Is this not where I'm supposed to be?"

Grimmjow gave a harsh laugh at that, before striding across the room to where she sat on the bed, her legs dangling over the side. He roughly grabbed her up, bodily lifting her to her feet and ignoring the cry of pain that she gave at his treatment. He pulled her towards the door of the adjoining bedchamber, throwing the door wide open and pushing her towards the cold, unprepared room.

Neliel's brow furrowed, and she turned back to face her husband of less than half a day. "I am not a maid servant whom you can order out on a whim. I am your wife, like it or not, and you should treat me as befit my station."

Grimmjow's eyes widened in bewilderment, "treat you as befit your station? My God, woman, you are nothing to me, nor do I recognize you as my wife. So stop harping on and let me be. I have had enough of both you and my grandmother's meddling ways."

He slammed the door in her face, and Neliel huffed in annoyance. Were it not for the fact that she understood his position, she would have liked to box his ears in. As it was, she let him be. Though if he thought she was going to allow him to continue to treat her in a similar fashion in future, he would be sorely mistaken.

…

Breakfast the following morning was a strained affair.

Gisella stared from one side of the breakfast table to the other, noting the strain in Neliel's face as she calmly ate a piece of toast, while Grimmjow on the other hand was openly scowling at his eggs, not that that wasn't something he did every morning, but she could tell that he was a lot moodier than usual.

She smiled cheerfully, looking to start a conversation topic. "And how was your first night at the Jaegerjacques town house, Nel? I trust you slept well?"

The woman in question looked up from her toast, shooting a narrowed look at Grimmjow before replying quietly, "it was a night I will not forget." Her gaze fell back to her half eaten toast, and she resumed with her meal in silence.

Oh, dear, Gisella thought, casting a glance at Grimmjow to gauge his reaction. Just what did he do to her last night?

She cleared her throat delicately and tried for another conversation gambit. "The Master's are holding a soiree on the first eve of December. I believe that it will be a good time to introduce Neliel as your wife to polite society. What do you think, Grimmjow?"

He merely grunted in reply. "Do as you wish, I have no interest in that sort of thing."

Gisella frowned, "really, Grimmjow. I know you do not enjoy attending events held by the ton, but this is the exception, and I really must insist that you show some interest in this."

"I cannot think why, madam, since you seem to be well-versed in acting on my behalf."

Gisella closed her mouth, glaring at Grimmjow. "Well, if you are going to behave so poorly this morning, Nel and I will simply leave you here while we spend your money on a new outfit for the upcoming ball."

Grimmjow paused mid-sip of his coffee cup, a brow raised. He lowered his cup, his gaze running over Neliel's figure. "I see. This is the kind of behaviour I am to expect in future from this marriage?"

Neliel froze at the verbal jab, raising narrowed eyes to Grimmjow, but it was Gisella that flew swiftly into action. Slamming her cutlery down on the table, she turned her dragon's temper on her grandson. "Watch your tongue. I did not raise you to be such an ill-mannered cur." With that, she rose to her feet.

"Come, Nel, let us leave. We do not have to put up with such poor company."

Leaving in a flurry of skirts, Grimmjow scowled at their backs before cursing under his breath.

…

Nel was silent in the carriage as they headed towards Mrs. Beedle's seamstress shop. Gisella sighed and patted her hand. "I'm sorry that you had to witness that. Grimmjow really isn't quite as terrible as he acted this morning."

She looked thoughtful for a moment before adding absently almost to herself. "It must be something to do with his work?"

Nel turned, her interest piqued. "The War Ministry? But Britain is at such a strong position against the French, surely they wouldn't be able to cause us problems?"

Gisella shrugged. "I am not sure what the exact situation is. Grimmjow has always been rather closed-mouthed about his work in the Ministry, not to mention, he had just returned from a three day stint out in God knows where."

Nel bit her lip, casting a glance out the window before turning back and smiling wryly. "I guess I can understand how he feels. I shall try my best not to be too obtrusive while asserting myself as the new Countess."

Gisella returned the smile. "That may be the best way to approach this for now. Coincidently—"

The sudden lurching of the carriage had the two women crying out in surprise. Nel had but a few moments to gather her composure before the door to the carriage was ripped open, and a burly man reached in to grab at the dowager countess. Without thinking, she struck out with her foot, causing the man to grunt in surprise. He turned his gaze on to her, and the lecherous smile he gave her had shivers running down her spine. He made a move to grab her ankle, and she snatched her foot back, grabbing at her reticule at the same time.

Quickly, she removed a pistol from within, aiming it at the man's head, her glare fierce as she spoke coolly, "make one more move towards us, and I'll shoot you between the eyes."

The man's face turned a blotchy red as he looked at the gun then at Nel, as if judging whether or not he could make a grab for the gun. Reading his thoughts, Nel cocked her pistol, her sight not wavering from his. He swore loudly before turning and making his escape.

Poking her head out of the carriage, Nel made sure that he was indeed gone before she turned to Gisella, finding her quite pale and sickly looking. Immediately returning to her side, she banged on the roof of the carriage, shouting instructions to return to the Northbury town house.

"Are you alright?" Nel breathed urgently, taking hold of her hand.

Gisella tried for a smile, "blast this weak constitution of mine. Quite a shock, wouldn't you say, my dear girl?"

Nel's brow furrowed with concern, and she patted her arm consolingly. "Do not worry about this. I am sure that Grimmjow will get to the bottom of this. Let us get you home."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** see previous chapters.

**Author's Notes:** Thanks for all the lovely reviews~! This chapter may be a bit  
strange, I'm still trying to adapt Grimmjow's character into this 18th century time period without getting too OOC, so forgive me if some of the chapter is a bit awkward. I will say though that the circumstances that we find Grimmjow in with this setting would allow for a different side of him but I'll endeavour to keep him true to his original character.

Apologies for the long delay, I know I seem to do that a lot but I really do mean it. Writing isn't coming as easy to me as of late. But I do hope you enjoy this next instalment. Happy readings.

…

Grimmjow brooded silently outside the Dowager's door, pacing up and down the corridor as he waited for the Physician to finish attending to his grandmother.

Minutes later, the door to her room opened, and the Physician exited, closing the door behind him softly. Grimmjow wasted no time. "How is she?"

"I've given her some laudanum so she can sleep. I'm afraid that the Dowager is not in the best of health, she will need to rest and recuperate, resisting from doing any strenuous activity. I daresay it might be best for her to rest back at the family estate? A bit of fresh country air would help get her back to normal."

Grimmjow nodded, thanking the man for his assistance before showing him out, his jaw clenched tight as he made his way back up the stairs to his grandmother's room. He opened the door quietly and closed it behind him, moving to sit by his grandmother's side. The paleness of her skin made her look so much older as she lay in her bed with her eyes closed. Grimmjow was still as he looked over his sleeping grandmother. He wasn't a sentimental man by nature, but this latest insult to his only surviving blood relative was too much to be borne. He watched over her still form for a few minutes longer before silently leaving the room.

He was going to set things right again.

Grimmjow made his way to the landing. He spotted Burgess below giving out orders to the staff and moved towards him. "Burgess, where is the Dowager's guest?"

Burgess replied in a deadpan voice. "Her ladyship, my lord?"

"I will be the one to decide that, you ungrateful wretch and damn you for always taking the old biddy's side over mine. Where is she?"

"I believe she is in the study." He sniffed, not turning a hair at the earl's burst of temper.

Grimmjow scowled, stalking off in the direction of the study, mumbling under his breath about meddling servants. He opened the door without knocking, his gaze falling on the figure standing still against the drawn drapes of the study. "I would have a word with you, woman."

She turned to face him. "How is her ladyship doing?"

He grunted. "She's fine. But more importantly, tell me everything that happened this afternoon."

She gave a recount of the attack, Grimmjow's piercing gaze never leaving her face once as she spoke. She tried not to fidget while under his intense scrutiny, but to say that Nel was somewhat intimidated by this intently focused Grimmjow was an understatement.

She supposed that she was comforted somewhat at seeing him so loyal to his family, and the thought of whether or not he would extend this loyalty to her own person flit through her mind before she shook her head to clear it of her fanciful thoughts. She and Grimmjow had a long way to go in their relationship before she could let herself entertain notions of having a home and family. She turned her attention back to the situation at hand, her eyes trained on Grimmjow's austere profile.

"Can you remember anything identifying about the footpad?"

Nel rubbed her forehead, "I can't quite say for sure. I didn't have my spectacles on so I couldn't see exact details."

Grimmjow took a breath before speaking; his voice quiet, "and pray tell, why did you not have your spectacles on?"

Nel merely shrugged, not wanting to admit vanity on her part or on the Dowager's. She'd been persuaded by Giselle to make do without her spectacles, only until her grandson became used to the idea of her as his wife, she had promised. She had obeyed her request, even though she had not seen what squinting at Grimmjow would do for their relationship. She thought to change the subject slightly. "It must have come off when the carriage jolted, no doubt from being stopped abruptly from the footpad. I do remember that he was a large man and I had managed to hit him square on the mouth with my foot, hard enough to split it open."

"You're quite the blood thirsty type, aren't you?" Grimmjow remarked, giving a humourless smile, that resembled more of a baring of teeth than anything else.

Nel remained silent, merely waiting for him to continue.

"You have been of immense help, madam," his voice bordering on sarcasm. His face was remote as he rose to his feet, and as he exited the room, Nel couldn't help but shiver at his expression.

It was the look of a man with the intent to kill.

…

Grimmjow entered the old tavern, taking a seat at his usual corner, his hooded eyes roving over the customers in the tavern.

He'd gotten in contact with one of his old informants, telling him to meet him in a couple of hours at their usual rendezvous spot. The place was as he remembered it, filled with drunken dockworkers letting off some steam after a day's hard work, as well as the tavern wenches that simpered about the place, offering not just a drink to the interested patrons. He shrugged off the attentions of a house wench who pouted and sashayed away, watching the action around him, ready to act if trouble broke out.

Not a minute later, his contact entered the room, making a beeline to his table. Taking a seat opposite Grimmjow, he ordered a drink from a passing wench before giving a toothless grin. " 'Ow can I 'elp you this evenin', sir?"

Grimmjow eased back in his chair, the stench emanating from his contact overwhelming. Nicknamed 'fink' due to his utter willingness to sell out information for coin, Grimmjow had met him during some undercover time, and had found him to be of suitable use to him, especially in navigating through the rookery where his title was treated with suspicion and resentment. From him he'd learned cockney speak that had become useful in some of his missions and in exchange for his co-operation, Grimmjow paid him adequately, not that he seemed to be using it wisely on such matters as his hygiene.

"I need some information on an attack that was carried out on the Dowager Countess of Northbury."

"Gentry? 'Aven't 'eard anyfing. Wot 'appened?"

"A footpad attacked my grandmother and her companion on Macquarie Street earlier today. I want to know who sent him and why."

Fink scratched his chin. "Got anyfing else for me to go on?"

"No."

"Gonna be 'ard finding the cove with just this."

"Yeah, but I'm paying you enough to find him no matter how tough it is."

Fink grinned. "That you are, sir. I'll be in touch."

"Be sure that you are."

…

The Dowager Countess fumed in her seat as she watched the servants bustle around her, packing her things for an extended stay at the country manor. She had tried her best to talk Grimmjow out of it, insisting that she was quite alright now and that nothing overly serious had happened to her, but her grandson had gotten that hard, close-mouthed look to him that meant there was to be absolutely no reasoning with him. She gave in to his demands with ill grace, choosing not to speak to him unless addressed.

"You will be accompanied at all times by a footman until I decide there is no imminent danger to yourself."

"How bothersome. I suppose you expect them to accompany me while I bathe and relieve myself as well?"

Grimmjow raised a brow but did not rise to the bait. "Have I made myself clear, madam?"

"Yes, you have made yourself abundantly clear."

Grimmjow couldn't help but grin at her bad temper. "If you're done using up all my time, I will attend to other important matters."

Before he could leave, Gisele placed a staying hand on Grimmjow's arm. "Grimm, I couldn't help but notice that Nel's belongings were being packed for the journey as well. Surely you don't mean to send her away to the country when she's at a very crucial point in her life."

Grimmjow's quick grin faded and he scowled as his proxy wife was mentioned. "She will be your companion while you're recovering. She will be of far better use to you than me."

"I never thought I would see the day where you couldn't find a better use for your wife then to send her off as a companion to an old woman. You sound like an untried school boy."

Grimmjow flushed at her words, his temper rising at the perceived slight against his manhood. "You will do as I say, madam. I am master of this household and what I say is law."

She didn't bat an eye, not turning a single hair at his show of temper. "But Neliel would not fair well in the country."

Grimmjow's jaw snapped shut for a moment before he raised his voice irritably. "Would you stop worrying about that damned chit and start worrying about yourself for a minute?"

"I can't. Neliel is a dear friend of mine and I would like for her to stay here. It's important that she make her debut into society at the Master's ball as it will no doubt have a majority of the ton in attendance."

"That damned ball isn't of my concern."

"But it is mine and you should show some consideration to the efforts that I have put in order to keep good relations with the members of society. Lord knows what would have become of this family were it not for the connections I hold."

Grimmjow gave a non-committal grunt.

"I will concede to travelling to the manor tomorrow on the grounds that you grant me one promise."

"Oh, you will be travelling there, madam, mark my words."

Giselle clutched at her chest, giving a pained expression, which had Grimmjow growling in frustration. He knew what the old biddy was trying to do, but he couldn't help but give in to her stubbornness.

"Stop with the theatrics. What is it that you want?"

"Take care of her, please. Give her a chance to prove herself a worthy countess."

Grimmjow scowled and was quiet. His silence dragged on to the point where Giselle was going to prompt him for his answer until he gave a weary sigh. "Alright, madam. I'll do as you ask."

…

Nel couldn't help but feel as if she was being abandoned by her only friend, as the Dowager Countess left the very next morning for the country estate.

Logically, it was silly to think of Giselle leaving as abandonment, but nevertheless, it was how she felt. If there wasn't such a strain between her and Grimmjow, she would feel somewhat better about the situation she now found herself in, as it was, it seemed she was going to have to shoulder everything alone until a time where there could be a pleasant enough arrangement between the two of them. While she was fanciful to entertain notions of Grimmjow coming to feel some sort of affection for her, she was realistic enough to know that marriages amongst the ton were marriages of conveniences, with many marrying out of responsibility and finding affection elsewhere with their lovers. But Nel was a woman of her word and the marriage vows she spoke she was honour-bound to keep.

She shook her head, pushing away the dreary thoughts that plagued her. She refused to feel sorry for herself, not when she chose this path for herself. All it required was some determination, hard work, and time for everyone to get used to her, especially the master. Taking a deep breath and nodding to herself in resolution, she set about fulfilling her duties as the new Countess of Northbury.

A mere three weeks later, Nel was ready to pull her hair out in frustration.

The servants were well trained, Burgess and the housekeeper Anna perfectly competent in directing the servants and keeping things running like a well-oiled machine that they hardly required direction from her. The running of the household wasn't a problem, the servants having already accepted her as the new countess, though Nel wasn't sure whether it was due to Giselle's wishes or from anything that she herself had done. It was the master however, with whom she continued to have problems with.

What frustrated her was that he wasn't willing at all to discuss their differences. He preferred to brood and scowl, letting his temper get the better of him so that a month after their initial meeting, they were still very much at the same stage in their relationship than they had been when they met: virtual strangers. And Nel had had enough.

She bided her time, waiting patiently for Grimmjow to return from wherever it was that he disappeared to every morning, passing the time by reading from the various books in the library. By nightfall, she could hear Burgess exchanging a few words with the master of the house, his footsteps sounding out as it headed towards the study. She waited a few minutes, knowing without a doubt that he had gone straight to the brandy decanter and was currently pouring himself a drink. Giving him a few more minutes to have his first taste, she moved quickly toward his study, entering in silently before turning and closing the heavy door with a firm push. She turned the key in the lock before turning to face her husband.

He greeted her with a scowl, taking a healthy swallow of alcohol before addressing her. "What are you doing here?"

Unperturbed, she watched him steadily. "We need to talk."

"No, we don't."

"My lord, I cannot imagine how avoiding the issue is going to fix anything. Can we not come to some sort of understanding between us? I am very much willing to make this a true marriage, despite the less than auspicious start."

"You forget that I didn't want to be married."

"Yes, well, you cannot have everything your way."

He gave her a humourless smile. "On the contrary, when you have as much money as I do, you find that you can almost get anything that you want. Everything has a price, you just have to be willing to pay for it."

Nel cocked her head to the side. "How very cynical you are, my lord."

He shrugged. "Once you enter society, you'll see that what I say is true."

"Regardless of whether or not that is true, there is still the matter of our relationship."

"Back to that again?

"Well, we have to address the elephant in the room, my lord." She moved closer until she was standing before his desk, speaking quietly. "I took my marriage vows sincerely, my lord. I'm perfectly willing and capable to produce as many heirs as you would like. I am well read and am unlikely to bore you to death with silly gossip. And since I am the only heir of the current duke of Charlton, the wealth and title I will one day inherit would assist greatly to our livelihood and that of future generations."

Grimmjow watched her silently, his hard, blue gaze piercing the very depths of her that she wanted to hide from his scrutinising eyes. But she wanted this partnership, enough to bargain with the devil himself for it. After a while, he spoke up, his rough voice was low and smooth as he questioned her motives. "Why me?"

"Why not you? You come from a line of earls who have sired strong and healthy offspring. Despite the cynical and temperamental man that you are, you treat your servants fairly; you have your own special code of honour. Any woman would be happy to have you as their husband."

"With so little assurance, you are easily convinced of making a go of this?"

Nel hesitated before shrugging, "you must know that there is really no option for a woman, is there? The best we can hope for is to find a man who can take care of us as our father's did, moving perpetually from one male carer to the next, even if we are more than capable of looking after ourselves."

Grimmjow leaned back in his chair, giving her a slight grin. "And you accuse me of being the cynical one."

Nel blushed slightly but remained still, refusing to back down from her stance. Not for the first time, she found herself to be completely enamoured by the brilliance of his blue eyes, the fierce concentration in them that left her feeling so very exposed. He spoke up after a few moments of silence had passed.

"How far are you willing to go with this 'wife' act of yours."

"I assure you, my lord, it is no act. I am more than willing."

His eyes glittered and he took another swig of his brandy before rising to his feet, moving slowly towards her. She fought to calm her nerves at his closeness, keeping still as he brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. "And if I demand my husbandly rights?"

Her lips quivered before she firmed them again in resolve, "I will not deny you, my lord."

He gave her another smile, a predatory smile as his fingers continued to stroke her skin, his touch sending shivers racing through her body. "Then I will see you later tonight, wife," he announced, stressing the last word. Nel nodded before stepping back and away from his touch, turning swiftly to exit the room with all the possible grace and nonchalance she could muster. As soon as she was clear of his study, she picked her skirts and ran up the stairs to her bedroom. She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, her heart racing furiously. She wrapped her arms around herself as her body trembled at the thought of what was to come.

Perhaps, just perhaps, she may come to realise her dream of having a home and family.


End file.
